All You Want
by Aja Killian
Summary: SEQUEL TO HERE WITH ME. Harry comes back to find his godfather and best friend have formed an unlikely bond. The Minister of Magic, unwanted, pokes his nose into others' business, young Miss Granger the apple of his eye. Drama abounds....
1. Chapter 1

The light was remarkably blinding. Everything smelled clean. There was noise outside the room he was in.

It took Sirius fractions of a second to realize that he was _not_ in Grimmauld Place, and fractions more to conclude that this probably wasn't Azkaban, either. It was too bright, even through his eyelids, to be Hermione's flat, and, though he had never been to Harry's new place, he really didn't think this was it, for some reason.

He gave a moan and opened his eyes, revealing a terribly white, pristine room with crisp linen sheets covering a—Sirius almost blushed to think—probably unclothed body. He was in a hospital.

He peered around, and soon found himself looking into the eyes of an old friend.

Remus Lupin smiled, leaning back in his chair the slightest. "Hello, Padfoot."

"Moony?" Sirius shook his head like a dog shaking water from his fur, and an aching pain settled in, twice as pungent as before. "How much did I drink last night?"

"Surprisingly, none. You were… not exactly conscious yesterday."

Sirius blinked in surprise. Lupin merely chuckled.

"That is, I mean to say, your _week _long blackout was not a product of overindulgence."

Sirius lifted an eyebrow. "Should I be remembering any of this?"

Lupin said with a sigh, "I suppose not. Oh well, Hermione had the same problem—"

Ar the mention of Hermione, Sirius sat up stock still; memories, one by one, clicked back into place. He allowed a hesitant smile to cross his features.

"—until I mentioned your name." Remus continued knowingly. "At which time, everything seemed almost painfully easy to recall."

"Where is she?" Sirius asked.

"Discharged. Went to her flat, I would presume."

"When?"

"Yesterday, at about teatime."

Sirius checked the wall clock. It was about twenty-four hours since.

"Malfoy? Pettigrew?" Sirius asked.

Lupin paused a little. "Mister Malfoy is currently being treated here for an hour every day, until his eyesight becomes what it was. And Pettigrew…" Lupin trailed off, voice faltering.

"Azkaban?" Sirius asked. Lupin shook his head. "Dead?" Sirius's tone was brisk and impersonal, and caused Lupin to look up in surprise at his friend.

"How can you be so callous?"

"Moon, we were going to kill him anyway." Sirius said reasonably. "Besides, death's better than Azkaban… and I would know. I've been both."

Lupin still looked unsure, but said nothing.

"Am I to be discharged, then?" Sirius asked excitedly.

"Where would you go?" Lupin asked curiously. He could not see his old friend wishing to return to Grimmauld Place, his old home; and, besides, this now legally belonged to Harry.

"Well, to Hermione's, of co—" Sirius stopped dead in the middle of the word. "She didn't say I couldn't… did she?"

"Oh no. As a matter of fact, it seemed as though she did minimal speaking at all, really… just saw that you were alive and went on her way."

"Nice of her." Sirius muttered.

"I do believe she is back in her accustomed working schedule… and not a moment too soon, as the inquiry into what, exactly, had befallen the arch was just closed. The young Malfoy and I had copious amounts of paperwork to plow through, to be sure."

Sirius shuddered. "I don't envy you."

"Indeed." Lupin said with a wry smile.

"But," Sirius said, a little anxiously, "ought I stay with Hermione? I mean, since Grimmauld is Harry's now… and she might still be hurt—we really don't want to leave her alone in case something goes wrong." Sirius bit his lip.

Lupin was quiet for a while, staring his friend down evenly. He finally sighed and spoke.

"It would be… unorthodox. Frowned upon, perhaps. Now the papers know you're back in the realm of the living, and by Hermione's hand… if they see you living in her house, they would, I'm certain, be all too prepared to jump to potentially embarrassing conclusions."

Sirius actually blushed a little. "Oh." He said, wriggling a little under his sheets. "Right."

"And there is, of course, the matter of Harry… I don't know how he would take it if he came back from his honeymoon and not only had his godfather come back from the dead, but was sleeping on his best friend's couch."

Sirius continued blushing, and his brought one hand up to scratch the back of his neck, unable to truly meet Lupin's gaze. Lupin raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug.

"Unless, of course," he said, "you _are _romantically involved with her."

"_No_!" Sirius intoned rapidly.

There was a long silence, after which Sirius said, "So… Harry's still on his honeymoon?"

"Yeah. They're scheduled to get back tomorrow."

Sirius chuckled. "That's missing an awful lot of work."

Lupin smiled. "He deserves it, though. He is, after all, the Man who Triumphed."

"Is that what they're calling him?"

"I'm afraid so."

Sirius shuddered. "Long honeymoon." He remarked, and gave a wolfish grin, tilting his head back a little. "Hmm… I don't know what to think of the kid anymore."

"I'm afraid Miss Weasl—_Mrs. Potter_, I apologize, can exercise a certain amount of authority over Harry; she wanted to return today, although Harry, I am afraid to say, would have preferred another month away."

Sirius grinned and shook his head.

"Just like James and Lily."

Lupin nodded.

"Just like Lily and James."

-

-

-

A/N: Anyone who is reading this who has not read "Here With Me" first, I recommend doing so at this point in the story, before I really confuse you. Everyone else, enjoy! And sorry the first chapter was so short...

Oh, if anyone can tell me the pertinence of the titles of the fanfics... erm, I don't know what I'll do. I'll present you with a cybercookie. gives cookie to self


	2. Chapter 2

"Just like Lily and James."

-

-

-

Hermione bustled around her flat with much ado. She had been trying to keep busy the past day, just because being idle meant allowing her mind to wander, and allowing her mind to wander meant terrifying embarrassment. Every time she remembered the locked room in the Department of Mysteries and valiantly pulling Sirius through the mysteriously opened doorway….

She gave an involuntary flush, and continued cleaning the already thrice-cleaned dishes.

"Don't be ashamed." She said aloud, allowing, as often was the case, sense to overcome her emotions. "If you hadn't opened the door and pulled Sirius through… he would probably be dead right now." _He has you to thank_.

Hermione, however, had failed to convince herself. The questions that had already come her way, even with the press barred from interrogating her just yet, had been embarrassing enough. How had she managed to open the door, when people had been attempting that very thing for years? Did she think it was linked with a tie between her and Sirius? Why had she brought him back from the dead?

The last question was probably the most difficult. She had no idea why she brought him back from the dead. She had been trying to answer that for herself ever since it had happened.

Lupin had given a very rushed and only slightly inadequate explanation the day before—it was possible Peter Pettigrew had sabotaged the arch to spit Sirius out when anyone was called. Something about his tone, however, gave away how little he believed this theory. Not likely, then, but possible. It was also possible, Hermione had come to her own conclusion, that her archaic demand of the arch had been leaning towards ambiguous, or had specified Sirius _rather than_ the intended Ron.

But none of it mattered now, because the arch was destroyed.

Hermione stood, hanging her head over the sink, and allowed one tear to fall into the soapy water. It was too much these days, to just step back and say that it was all over and nothing could be done. Everything had been done before… she had been able to change anything to fit her circumstances. Why would everything backfire when she was about to make herself happy for the first time in years?

_You were fine when Sirius came back. The two of you got on well._

Hermione stifled her mental voice immediately, sniffling a little and pulling the rubber gloves off her hands. "Enough." She said, laying the gloves aside. "Enough for now."

-

-

-

Sirius was a little unsteady on his feet at the outset, but, with a little help from Lupin, he was able to get back into his regular clothes. Together, they set off down the hall, Lupin clutching Sirius's arm.

"Well, well… I see the puppy has finally decided to get out of his _cat_ nap." Said a slightly familiar drawl, and Lupin and Sirius both turned their heads to face the same, sneering Draco Malfoy as ever.

Yet he was somehow different, it seemed. He did not seem to have his bearing down very well, and was squinting heavily. His hand drew across the wall as he walked slowly, although whether to steady him or guide him Sirius could not tell.

Also, he was smiling.

"What are you two mutts doing here?" He asked, positively grinning.

Sirius snorted. "_I_ was just leaving."

"Oh yeah? Where were you going to go?" Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was planning on going to…" Sirius said slowly, and then shrugged. "Well, I was going to ask Hermione if I could stay with her."

"What about Grimmauld Place?" Malfoy asked.

"It's Harry's now. I'll need his permission."

Malfoy's smile grew afresh. "Well, if Granger won't let you back in… feel free to stay at the Manor. I don't live there anymore, as it kind of creeps me out a little, but if you can handle putting up with the family servants… be my guest."

Sirius smiled. "Yeah, maybe. Thanks. Right now, I'm in no shape to Apparate… you want to accompany us down to the fireplaces?"

"I would, but I have to go get my medicine." Malfoy winced. "I really hate hospitals…."

He walked off, hand still on the wall, and Sirius smiled a little as he and Lupin continued to walk down to the fireplaces.

-

-

-

Hermione had finally given up doing anything, and was lying back on the couch. She probably ought to be sleeping, so that she could be ready for work the following day… but she could not allow herself to fall away into sleep.

She stared long and hard into the flames, trying not to think and yet finding herself unable. She had just reached a level of intense thought that always came just before she slept when the flames turned green.

She hopped up into a crouched, alert position on the couch, pulling her wand quickly from the holster it found in her belt loop. There, in the fire, suddenly came spinning out, very swiftly, none other than Sirius Black.

She did not put her wand away. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise.

Sirius stopped spinning, and looked very weary. He looked around a little, and then, spotting the younger girl, smiled at her in his own way.

"Hello, there." Was all he said.

He looked fine, just a little tired. His posture was more hunched then usual, and he leaned against the wall slightly for support, but his eyes twinkled just the same as they always had, and he smiled just the same way. His left eyebrow lifted just a little, and you could see the very tops of his white bottom teeth.

Hermione blinked at him.

"Have you got a spot on your couch for a weary traveler?" He asked. His voice sliced through her as if she was butter. She was in shock.

"What…" she finally said, "are you doing here?"

"Hmm?" He made a noise that caused Hermione's skin to tighten slightly. Both eyebrows lifted now.

"I… assumed you were going to Lupin's or… somewhere…." Hermione finished lamely.

There was a long silence, and Sirius kind of felt himself falling a little into depression. He spread out his hands, palms up, and said quietly, "If you want me to go…."

Hermione's eyes widened. "No! Of course not! I had… hoped you would come and stay." Both of Sirius's eyebrows went back up again, and a mental smile spread across him, but Hermione blushed and shook her head. "I just… you know, don't get much company these days. I'd love to have you stay out here in the couch."

"I'd be happy to pay half your rent." Sirius said. "_All_ your rent, really, as I have nothing better to with my money. I have plenty. We could be… you know… roommates."

Hermione blinked at him once more. "But… once Harry gives Grimmauld Place back to you…?"

Sirius laughed. "Like I want to go back to _that_ place? I'd far prefer stay here with you."

Hermione's lip trembled. "R-really?"

"Really."

Hermione felt herself about to cry inexplicably, and knew she did not want Sirius to be around when that happened. She smiled at him and said something about going to get blankets for the couch. She was almost out of the room when Sirius called after her, and she turned around.

"Thank you. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with right now." Sirius said, smiling.

Hermione smiled shakily, but inside, her heart was pounding. She was unable to speak, so she merely nodded at Sirius and took off into her bedroom, collapsing against the shut door.

Of course he had not meant that, she thought, berating herself. He had not meant _be_ with, only stay with.

Hermione mentally slapped herself for the images that rushed unbidden into her mind. She had no plans to flirt with, hold hands with, and definitely not kiss Sirius. Or anything more. At all. The were just friends, and even that was an improvement from what they had been before. They would not progress. He had been brought back by accident, the door only opened because she really needed it to, and that kiss so long ago…? Sirius was just being the same old Sirius.

Still, Hermione's heart warmed pleasantly as she thought of what he had said.

"No one he would rather be with." She said thoughtfully, pulling a blanket out of her closet. She held it to her, before turning around and heading back to the living room.

-

-

-

A/N: Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry it's taken so long to update! I wouldn't blame all of you if you forgot about me. But here it is! Chapter 2! Keep guessing the pertinence of the titles of all the stories in this series. Also, anyone who has NOT read HERE WITH ME and DON'T LEAVE HOME, I would reccomend doing so, as this is about to get very confusing for anyone who has not.  
Thank you, and I love you all!


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Weasley's yearly Christmas party was the flutter of every year these days; even Hermione, in her long years of mourning Ron's death, had been loathe not to attend, and had convinced herself to go two years out of five. It was lively, a masquerade sort of affair. The array of guest stretched from the lower floor inside, spilling all the way out into the farthest reaches of the garden in the backyard, spelled to keep warm while still retaining snow. There was food and drink and merriment in abundance, as well as, courtesy of the Weasley twins, a grand surplus of mistletoe and spiked punch. Hermione had long dreamt of this upcoming party, thinking she would be able to bring the newly revived Ron as her date.

The day after Sirius moved back in with Hermione, settling himself back down on her couch, was the day Hermione received her invitation by owl. Sirius found her weeping slightly in the kitchen when he woke up, and he took the paper from her hand and read it.

"A party? _Wow_." Sirius sighed, trying to remember the last time he had been to a real party. He did not know why Hermione was crying about it; he would have loved to have been invited to a get-together, and was a little hurt that he was not when he remembered that people were still getting used to the fact that he was alive in the first place, and Molly probably had not had the mind to put him on the guest list. Besides, he and Molly had never quite gotten on very well, stated mildly.

"What's the matter?" He asked, suddenly realizing Hermione was in tears. She looked up, wiping her eyes and trying a smile, and shrugged.

"Er… nothing."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. Early morning or no, he was not quite stupid enough to be that inobservant. Hermione shrugged again, looking back down at her lap. A strand of her hair fell into her eyes, and Sirius noted how her long eyelashes folded together when her eyes fluttered shut.

Sirius looked back at the invitation, at where it stated that Hermione could bring anybody she'd like to bring as a date; he frowned. "You were… planning on bringing Ron, weren't you?"

Hermione looked up at him, frowning. "It's not that," she said quickly, but Sirius shook his head, and she smiled a little. "Alright. Maybe."

Sirius grinned. "I'm sorry, but… I don't have anyone to go with, and I'd really like to go to a party just about now—I haven't been for longer than I'd like to think about."

There was a long silence, and Hermione raised her chin and her eyebrows simultaneously, appraising Sirius's frank expression. Then, with a caution befitting her nature, Hermione actually smiled back at him, albeit very slowly. "Are you asking me out on a date, Sirius?"

Sirius frowned with one side of his mouth, biting down softly on the other side—an expression of thought. "I wouldn't call it a _date_, exactly, but…" he sighed. She could really do with some cheering up at that moment. Perhaps a date—a _real_ date—would be just what the doctor ordered. He let up a bit on his lip and allowed himself to smile again. "Sure. Hermione, will you be my date to the Christmas party?"

Hermione grinned. "Alright, then." They stayed like that, grinning at each other, until Hermione bit back a gasp, and said aloud, "Damn. Sirius, there is one kind of big problem…."

"What's that?" Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows in concern.

The very corners of Hermione's mouth bent downward into a frown. She looked up at him slowly. He noticed her chocolate eyes were still ruddy and puffy around the edges, still sparkling from iris to white; he gulped slightly, knowing he would be quite unable to deny her anything she asked for. A heartbeat later, Hermione's shoulders heaved with a sigh, and she said melodramatically, "You see… living along for so long… well… let's just say that I don't have a _thing_ to wear."

-

-

-

"I hope Harry doesn't mind…" Sirius said, offering Hermione a hand up. She had fallen while Flooing in to Grimmauld Place. Sirius did not mention that he had done the same thing before her, but Hermione took in the ash on the knees of his pants, and assumed as much for herself. She said nothing, but smirked a little.

"He shouldn't. He never actually _comes_ here, anyway." Hermione sighed. "And what are we doing here, anyhow? Or are you not permitted to answer?"

"Checking out all of the old closets." Sirius said, with a slow wink and a smile. "We're going to see if all those pansy clothes of Regulus's fit _me_, and if the horrid coquette dresses Bellatrix used to doll herself up in do anything for _you_. We'll be a regular old-fashioned couple."

Hermione blushed a little. Sirius laughed. "Then again, Bellatrix may have been a bit curvier than you are—no offense, of course," Hermione only shrugged, "but we'd probably better check Narcissa's supply… if she hasn't taken them all out, already."

They walked off, arm in arm, to an old musty bedroom, the one Tonks had kept up in during her time there, years before; Sirius led Hermione to one closet. Hermione's head was elsewhere, trying to remember exactly how big Narcissa was around the chest; no matter how little she imagined, it was always at least some more than she. Also, a little, needling thought in the back of her mind told her that Sirius must have at least really _looked_ at her figure once—a thought which embarrassed her to no end for some reason which Hermione could not identify.

"Alright, you rifle through that closet," Sirius said, smiling and pulling back the wooden closet doors (several mothballs rolled out, and a large cloud of dust, causing Hermione to cough slightly), "and I'll go jam myself into some of my little brother's old clothes." He moved closer, and, for once exciting second, Hermione thought he might be about to kiss her on the cheek—although, on later analysis, she did not allow herself to wonder too much as to _why_ that would be any more exciting than a kiss on the cheek from anyone else—but he patted her on the shoulder and hugged her gently to him before letting her go and walking out of the room. "Change into it, so I can see," he tossed over his shoulder.

"I will if you do." She muttered as the door shut behind him.

-

-

-

Sirius entered his brother's old room, putting a stop to all the old memories that threatened to come back. He walked directly over to the old wardrobe and opened it, staring at the array of hanging clothes before him. There were a few moldy, moth-eaten suits, but, in the very back of the closet, there was an actually nice suit—without too many lacy ruffles—that must have had an anti-aging spell on it, because it was in nearly perfect condition. Sirius, smiling doggedly at it, pulled the old suit out and stared at it.

It was a very dark blue hue, Sirius's favorite color; a white collar showed a few ruffles, but they looked like something a vampire from an old classic movie would wear, rather than a prat. The pants were probably a tad short; Sirius would magic those longer later on. Sirius found a pair of fancy black gentlemanly boots and polished them just a little. He slowly undressed, and got into the suit.

It fit very, very well; something about how the pants were just the right length convinced Sirius that there must have been some auto-fit spell on it. He put on the shoes and surveyed himself in the mirror. After a few combs through his hair, he smiled. He could not wait to show Hermione.

-

-

-

At that very moment, Hermione had just lamented that absolutely nothing in the closet would fit her properly. She finally chose one for the color—a kind of bridal off-white—and slipped it up. There were complicated laces in the back which Hermione could not get, and she decided that Sirius would definitely have to get it for her. She looked quickly in the mirror, checked that her hair was in order, and then jumped at the knock on the door behind her. She whirled around.

"Sirius?"

"No… it's the Minister of Magic. Just thought I'd check in."

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. "Come on in… I need you to lace this up." She looked at the neckline of the dress which bagged around her scant curves, and showed rather more than Hermione would have preferred. Sighing, she turned so her back would be facing him when he came in, and she swept her hair to the side and over one shoulder.

Sirius opened the door slowly, peeking his head in first, and then allowing his body to follow. He was smiling, but his smile faded quickly when he saw Hermione's neck bared; something about it made his pulse pound, and the way she turned her head slightly so she could see him over her naked shoulder, and the way that her eyelashes stood out vividly dark in her profile… he was rendered speechless. He somehow managed to continue walking to her, and, with a burst of inner effort—although every instinct told him to tear it off—began lacing the dress.

"Tighter than that," Hermione said mildly, turning her head back to face straight, now unable to see Sirius. "Please." She added, as an afterthought.

He laced it a little tighter, corners of his mouth now pointing upwards, if only just a little. The laces were intricate, and something about the speed at which warm blood was racing through Sirius's extremities—_all_ of them—slowed his fingers, gave them a bumbling sort of nature. He tried not to let Hermione feel how difficult this was for him, but soon, he heard her giggle.

"What are you doing back there… tying it in a thousand little knots?"

Sirius laughed. "No. These are hard to do up, is all." He finally finished, tied as graceful a bow of the ribbon as he could muster, and stepped back. "Alright, all done." Hermione threw her brown curls back over her back; she wheeled around, feeling the floaty skirt whirl about her legs, and then turned to face Sirius, smiling.

He was not smiling. A lump had formed in his throat the size of a troll; he pursed his lips together tightly. Hermione looked a little hurt.

"What's the matter? Is it too big?"

Sirius shook his head, able to speak, but his voice was rough, and he blushed a little. "No. It's… well, Hermione, you're perfect."

Hermione blushed as well now, a little taken aback. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. "Well…" she said, surveying Sirius now, "you look quite charming yourself. Blue truly does suit you. Perhaps you should have been a Ravenclaw…?"

"Perish the thought." Sirius said, grinning. He offered Hermione his arm. "My lady?"

She accepted it, and allowed him to lead her to the kitchen, creeping barefooted—holding their shoes in their free arms—past the old portrait of Sirius's mother. Setting down their shoes on the floor, they sat at the table, and Sirius looked in a few dusty corners of the room that Hermione had never thought to look in before. From these, he procured a bottle of firewhiskey. He pulled out two small glasses, and filled them both with the liquid.

"To Christmas parties," he said, offering Hermione her glass and raising his own. Hermione hesitantly raised her glass, allowing it to clink pleasantly against Sirius's, and quickly downed the liquid. It burned with all sorts of spices. She smiled a forced smile as she gulped it all down. Sirius wiped his mouth and refilled both glasses.

"You don't think the neckline is too low?" Hermione asked.

Sirius shook his head. "The neckline's _perfect_," he said, grinning. "Shall _you_ make a toast, now, Lady Hermione?"

Hermione grinned, as well, and elevated her glass cautiously, so as not to spill the red-amber liquid. She had a feeling it would burn her if it touched her skin. "To the perfect outfits for the perfect party…" she stopped here, but her voice did not punctuate the statement, and Sirius looked on at her, as if expecting something more. Hermione, loosened a little by that first toast—she never could hold her liquor very well, and even the smallest bit loosened her tongue like the strongest Veritaserum—continued daringly, nodding her head at Sirius and saying, "and, of course, the perfect date."

She downed hers, and was too busy wincing from the bitterness of it to notice that Sirius had not taken a sip of his. By the time her eyes opened and she looked up, the firewhiskey from his glass was gone, but he looked placidly at her from over the empty glass. There was a long silence.

Hermione swept to her feet, blushing more than she would have liked. She felt on the verge of tears. What right had Sirius, to say nothing? Her whimsical nature induced by the drug had been cancelled, now a kind of violent melancholy, threatening tears. Her body shook once, but whether with a sob or just a hiccough, Hermione could not tell. She swept her skirts away from the chair, setting her glass down with a thud. Sirius continued to watch her placidly.

"I'm going to go change back into my clothes," Hermione said, voice wavering dangerously. "I'll be at the flat." With that, she walked as quickly as she could out of the kitchen, past the portrait of Mrs. Black, and then dashed a swiftly as possible up to Narcissa's old bedroom. It was all she could do to prevent herself from flinging herself down on the bed and weeping then and there, but she knew this was not that place for such a thing. Instead, she scooped up her clothes, and, despite being a little woozy to Apparate safely, did so, and found herself in her own flat, in her own room.

She fell against the wall slightly, allowing her clothes to drop to the ground. With as swift a nature as possible, she tore at the ribbons as her back, trying to unlace them; luck was not with her, and no matter how she tried, she could not get them undone. She threw her head full of dark brown curls back and moaned in aggravation.

There was a knock on the door, now to Hermione's back. She said nothing, allowing sobs and tears to pour out of her like that was what she was meant for; she heard the door open, and heard Sirius's walk—she could distinguish his walk just from the sound—sweep across the floor. His warm hands pushed her hair from the laces; her fingers quickly unlaced the dress. Suddenly immune from any further embarrassment than she was going through already, she forced her arms from the sleeves and allowed the dress to fall to the ground, now in only her undergarments.

She sobbed noisily, and Sirius shushed her, turning her around with his warm palms on her thin shoulders. He wiped the tears from her bright red face, and pulled her to him. She beat a fist against his chest halfheartedly, but she had not hurt him, had not prevented him from holding her.

They stood like that for longer than either of them knew, Hermione sobbing and Sirius holding her, the dress pooled at Hermione's feet, until Hermione collapsed, asleep, against him, and he put her to bed, pulling the sheets up about her. He folded her clothes and set them next to the bed, bringing her the shoes she had left behind at Grimmauld Place. Hesitantly, he leaned over and kissed her forehead, and then turned and left the room.

"Memo to Sirius," he said, leaning against her door after he shut it behind him. He allowed his head to loll back and tap the wood quietly. "Don't let Hermione have a drop at the party."

-

-

-


	4. Chapter 4

"Memo to Sirius," he said, leaning against her door after he shut it behind him. He allowed his head to loll back and tap the wood quietly. "Don't let Hermione have a _drop_ at the party."

-

-

-

Ginny loved the new house. It was beautiful. It was perfect. Harry knew exactly what they would require as a couple, together, newlywed, and he had gotten it for them.

The home sat placidly near the sea; far enough away that they could not smell the ocean from their home, but close enough that, if they listened very closely, they could hear it. It was set on remote stretches of the greenest grass in England; their closest neighbors were half a mile north of them… their neighbor to the south, they had not yet visited, but was another plug-in to the Wizarding world, having an already Floo-connected fireplace. The house was three stories tall, made of stone, and with an airy feel during the day, and a nice, homely feel at night. Each room echoed within itself, although not into the other rooms… which would be useful, Ginny thought with a blush, if they ever had children.

Ginny was seated in the kitchen; it was probably her favorite room. She was terrible at cooking, despite her parenting, but the beauty of this little room almost convinced her to give the trade another good try. It was the warmest room in the house—which was why Ginny occupied it most of the time during these cold months—with delicately painted white walls. Ginny and Harry had painted the walls before their wedding, and enjoyed doing it so immensely that they had put on five or so coats. It was blindingly, alarmingly white, although that could hardly be seen. Hung all over were utensils for cooking, framed posters and newspaper clippings, old photographs, new photographs… Ginny's favorite, at which she stared now, was a Muggle picture of Harry as a child (Dudley, the foreground of the picture, had been cut out), sidled next to a wizarding photograph of an infant Ginny.

There was the sound of the front door opening, and Ginny ran into the front room, expecting to see Harry coming through the door and all ready to throw herself at him and kiss him. Instead, however, the top of a rather large evergreen tree was being shoved unceremoniously through the small door, with Harry's impatient grunts at the other end. Ginny laughed, grinning and almost crying from the humor.

Harry finally got himself and the tree through the door, and, sweaty and covered with pine branches, stepped through, throwing his arms out wide.

"Honey, I'm home."

Ginny grinned, looking at the tree. "Oh, dear… you shouldn't have."

"I went out and cut it myself… I feel so manly." Harry said, pulling Ginny into his arms. She kissed him and pulled back.

"Did not. You bought it… admit it."

Harry grinned. "Alright, you caught me. I was _going_ to cut one down, but would you believe there isn't a single one on _our_ property?"

Ginny laughed, and pulled Harry down for a more intimate kiss; when he pulled back, she could tell her felt rather dizzy, and pulled away, wrapping an arm around his waist. She waved her hand at a stack of newspapers on the couch and said, "Those are the Daily Prophet's we missed on our honeymoon. If I were you, I'd look through them, to see what we missed."

"Where were they yesterday?"

Ginny laughed. "Right there. We'd just missed them."

Harry moaned; he grabbed the top two off the stack and followed Ginny's urgings into the kitchen, where he plopped down at the table. He unfolded the bottom-most paper, but his eyes trailed elsewhere, to the ribbon-tied invitation on the table.

"What's that?" He asked, gesturing at it.

"This?" Ginny lifted it, and shrugged. "An invitation to mum's Christmas party. We can bring whoever we want as a date. I was thinking about asking Draco Malfoy…."

Harry laughed and narrowed his eyes, allowing his new wife to kiss him swiftly. "Thanks, dear, I'd _love_ you go with you." He murmured against her lips, and she laughed.

"I'll go set up and decorate the tree, then," Ginny said, ambling off into the living room, pulling her wand from her pocket.

Harry looked down at the front page and saw a familiar sight, although one he had not seen in years upon years; a mug-shot of Sirius Black, looking frightened and angry, was pasted across the front.

Harry frowned, feeling something odd at the back of his eyes, making him bat them quickly. "What is it _now_?" He wondered aloud. "Why won't they just leave him _alone_?"

Despite his anger at the newspaper, he began to read the article.

Sirius Black, once thought murderer but now legally pardoned and reported deceased, is not having so restful a death as one might hope, writes Tarin Fields, Special Correspondent. He is back from the beyond, and, sources say, shacking up with the only proven necromancer of our age—now twenty-three year-old Hermione Granger, who brought him back.

"The entire thing was well hushed-up," reports an anonymous Ministry official. "Nobody knew Granger was going to do it." When asked why she would want to do such a thing, nearly all opinions point to that such as stated by this very official. "Fame. She wanted to be the only one who had done it before… and, let's face it, she got it, didn't she?"

Things, however, may have changed since Granger awakened Black, 46. Insiders report that there may be a hidden romance behind closed doors.

Healer Bones of St. Mungo's, who treated both Granger and Black after a mysterious fiasco at the Ministry (full report on page 12) says this about the relationship between the two: "There's nothing to say. I don't know where you people come up with this. They were both treated… Granger woke up first, and went immediately to her home by Floo, 'cause she was too tired to Apparate. Black did the same." A nurse on duty, however, claims that, when Black Flooed away, it was to Granger's flat, and not his own. The other two living people involved in the matter at the Ministry, Remus J. Lupin, 46, and Draco Malfoy, 23—both unharmed in the incident—were interviewed about the matter.

Lupin states: "Pardon me, but I don't believe it's any of your business…."

Malfoy states: "You really are a bundle of prats, aren't you? Merlin! I mean, the first recorded act of _necromancy_ has just been committed—probably one of the deepest and most difficult magical happenings—a huge educational artifact has been destroyed, security breached at almost the deepest level _possible_ in the Ministry, _and _an old convict is dead! And what do you care about? Some damn love story? Leave me alone, you morons!" Mister Malfoy also said several other things which the newspaper does not care to print. For details of both Malfoy's and Lupin's involvement in this inquiry, turn to page 12.

Harry blinked at the paper. He could not believe his eyes, what he was reading in. Sirius… back? He tried to convince himself it was all a mistake, that they had gotten it wrong somehow. He did not want to get his excitement up. Somehow, however, he found excitement welling inside of him, pooling silently, and, his heart pounding in his brain heavily, turned to page 12.

-

-

-

Today, nothing could surprise Draco Malfoy.

His sight had, by and large, come back already, although he had to squint to see what it was that the very small, very familiar owl had brought him through the window. It was a small envelope, wrapped in a ribbon, with the words 'Draco Malfoy' scrawled across it. He untied it from the owl, which immediately flew away. Finding his seat on the couch, he lay back onto it and quickly undid the ribbon around the envelope, sliding the letter inside out carefully.

He put on a lent pair of reading glasses to peruse what turned out to be an invitation—Draco's first invitation to a Christmas party in which people did not celebrate instead the birth of the Dark Lord (even though the exact day had been forgotten, the Death Eaters had figured that Christmas was as good a time as any to do so). He smiled at the paper. He was not forgotten, after all. Even though the writing on the envelope was Molly Weasley's, Draco had a feeling that it was more Remus Lupin that had to do with Darco's receiving the invite.

Draco had just decided to finally go back to the Malfoy manor—in order to find something to wear—when he heard a heavy knock on the door of his small, seaside cabin.

Raising his eyebrows (as there was nobody who would willingly visit him that came to mind readily), Draco answered the door.

A little out of focus, Harry Potter stood in the doorway. Draco pulled off his reading glasses to make double certain; there was no mistaking that hair or that scar. Potter smiled a little.

"They told me you lived here… we're just north of you."

"Wonderful." Draco moaned dramatically, waving Harry inside and shutting the door behind him. "I could think of no one that I would better prefer to be my neighbor, truly. Now… pray tell, why are you here? To use my fireplace to Floo? I would have imagined that you would have learned to Apparate by now…."

"I can. That's not what I was doing." Harry smiled, a full-fledged grin… one Draco had not seen since their school days. "I was going to check in on you."

"Check in on me? How kind of you."

"I don't remember you wearing glasses."

"That's probably because I didn't."

"Oh. Mind if I sit down?" Harry plopped onto the couch. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I suppose, seeing as there is no stopping you." Draco now sat in a full armchair, facing Harry, and gave his best attempt at a smile. There was a long silence, after which Draco finally sighed and spoke, a little irritated. "Don't let me cramp your style. Speak whenever you feel like it."

"It's about this," Harry began, procuring a newspaper from seemingly nowhere and waving it about. Draco could not quite read the headline, but he had a guess which article it was—Black's portrait was on the front. "And you, Lupin, Hermione, and an old photo of Pettigrew on page twelve." Harry added, with a smile as Draco put his glasses back on again.

"Hmm," Draco sighed, flipping halfheartedly to the said page. "Not a flattering picture. I look a bit peaky."

"Ferrety, I'd say." Harry added.

"What did you want, Potter?" Draco snapped, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair. It was tremendously comfortable.

"I wanted to know if that—if what that states and what you said in it—" Harry's voice trailed off, but came back strong, "—are… true."

Draco flipped back to the first page slowly, crossing one leg over the other and perusing the print knowingly. "Let's see… Pettigrew is dead. Black certainly does seem to be back, and staying at Hermione's—don't worry, he's on the couch, I believe." Draco added, at the look on Harry's face. "But the rest they got wrong, I think. First of all, I'm twenty-two, not twenty-three yet. Also, they're wrong in saying that Lupin and I escaped unscathed. I'd like to see _them_ blinded and such-like and still be _unscathed_." Draco said darkly. He paused, then sighed. "_And_ it seems, at least to my knowledge, that it didn't leak to the press what doors really _were_ opened that night at the Ministry of Magic."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Doors? _What_ doors?"

Draco smiled. "I have a feeling it's going to take a while to tell this story. Please, do make yourself comfortable."

-

-

-

Not for the first time in her lifetime—and, most likely, not for the last—Hermione woke up in strict belief that morning came far too early.

Amazingly, her head did not hurt. That is, it did not hurt while she was completely immobile. The second she attempted to sit up, a dull pounding echoed. She could remember everything from the day before. She had not been incredibly drunk, at least, after two shots. It was a relief to hear that she could at least hold that much liquor.

She dressed and ambled out to the kitchen for breakfast. She had not yet decided whether she should pretend not to have remembered what had happened the day before or no when Sirius came in, wearing only a pair of pajama pants, and yawning, grinning like a loon.

"You were out most of the day yesterday," he remarked, patting her on the head as he passed her up and started heating the stove. He rooted about for a pan, and placed it on the heat.

"I know," Hermione sighed. "I was tired. I see you cleaned my room… thanks."

"It's alright." Sirius said. "French toast sound good to you today?"

"Sure," Hermione said. There was a long silence, in which Sirius got frustrated at how long it took the oven to heat the pan and surreptitiously tapped it with Hermione's wand. Hermione, watching Sirius make the mixture into which the bread was to be dipped before cooking, sighed a little. "Listen, Sirius… about yesterday. I'm really, really—"

"That's alright." Sirius said immediately, cutting off any apology Hermione was going to offer. He did not, however, care to expand; Hermione blushed a little as she wondered what, exactly, he had been expecting her to apologize for. There was another silence, after which Sirius said, "And it is _I_ who should be apologizing."

"Whatever for?" Hermione raised her eyebrows, but her heart was beating wildly inside of her. She knew it was coming—for leading her on, he was going to say. He had been leading her on, was all. He had no idea how much he had hurt her….

"For ever taking you to that awful house." Sirius said, shaking his head slowly. "It's a dreadful place; all the worst things happen in there. It's filled with hate and angst and—I'm sorry again. I'll never take you there again."

Hermione's heartbeat, if possible, sped up, became even wilder. He had not said he was leading her on. Perhaps… just _perhaps_… he though the _she_ was the perfect date, as well.

Smiling, Hermione accepted a piece of French toast and ate it merrily. For some inexplicable reason, suddenly morning seemed to have come too late, to have taken too much out of her long day, shared pleasantly at Sirius's side.

-

-

-

"Yes, they are… but you'd best not bother them, dears." Mrs. Weasley said with a knowing smile. Ginny and Harry both put on instantly defensive expressions.

"But I'm her _best_ friend—"

"Hermione can always talk to me—"

"—And _his_ godson, besides—"

"—And I want to see Sirius, too!"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head at their protests. "No, darlings… they need peace of all things right now. Ask Remus… he spoke with both of them, and it was by his decree to re-route all Flooing to Hermione's over here from your house. I have, however, invited them to the Christmas party… so you can see them then. In the meantime—maybe you can help me decorate for the party?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged looks. Harry sighed.

"I guess we don't get to see her, then." He said, and Ginny pouted in return. "May as well stay and help decorate…."

Ginny half smiled. "Well…" she heaved the greatest of great sighs, "I suppose so. I'll hang the mistletoe."

Harry chuckled. "I think I can help you with that…."

-

-

-

AN: Hello all again! Ah! Christmas season is here, so I'll try to pump out a few more chappies for the lot of you in celebration of that! I hope to get done w/ Christmas in the story before I have to leave my wonderful internet connection behind.

If you enjoy these stories, please look at my Christmas wish list: Reviews! and links to other really good Hr/S fanfics. I love all of you! Sorry to have taken so long, and I hope you enjoy...


	5. Chapter 5

Ginny half smiled. "Well…" she heaved the greatest of great sighs, "I suppose so. I'll hang the mistletoe."

Harry chuckled. "I think I can help you with that…."

-

-

-

Christmas Eve arrived cold and a little dark; clouds swept over the sky, covering it darkly. Due to this, at about ten in the morning it looked like evening, and stayed as such for a very long time… until four o' clock, when the guests began to arrive at the Burrow.

Harry and Ginny were the first to arrive. Harry was in stately green and black dress robes, and Ginny in a deep purple dress that swept across the floor delicately as she walked. Fred, George, and Angelina Johnson were next, each wearing their uniforms from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes—Angelina asked Mrs. Weasley about something of other in the kitchen while Fred and George usurped the punch bowl from the courtyard for a few moments. It was replaced a minute later, looking an almost untraceable amount darker in hue.

Many, many people made their ways to the Burrow that evening for the get-together, all dressed up magnificently, all wishing one another a happy Christmas and congratulating Harry and Ginny. Draco showed up at Lupin's side, with a cane helping him around the yard; Fred immediately loosed a sprig of enchanted mistletoe on Malfoy, which trapped and held him until Padma Patil took pity on his state and swiftly kissed him to allow him to move from underneath the leafy creature.

Sirius and Hermione did not get to the party until about six o' clock. They Apparated about half a mile off and walked up the winding path to the house. Hermione's gloved arm was looped in Sirius's more powerful one, and they exchanged a few glances.

"Are you excited?" Hermione asked, just before they entered the Weasleys' yard. Sirius turned her to face him, and grinned right in her face. He brushed his lips against her forehead chastely.

"Yes. I don't want you to leave my side, alright? There are enough people in there to scare the insides out of me, and they'll all want to ask millions of questions about being dead and such." Sirius sighed, grinning. "I think I could handle that much better if you were there with me."

Hermione slowly smiled. She was flattered that he would like _her_, of all people, to stay by his side. Blushing a little, she said slowly, "Oh… alright."

Sirius offered Hermione his arm again, and she gracefully took it. They entered the warmth of the house.

-

-

-

Spotting Sirius, Lupin broke away from all conversation and trotted over. He and Black hugged awkwardly, as Sirius did not remove Hermione's arm from his first; Lupin shook his head.

"I'd watch out if I were you, Sirius." Lupin said warningly, but smiled a little. "Lots of people want to hear your story. They keep trying to get it out of me."

Sirius half-smiled, as well. "Well, they're going to have to find out someday, right, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, shrugging. "I'm sure _they_ think so, in the least."

Lupin was not wrong; at that very moment, more than a few people had glanced over to those who had just entered, and were eyeing them with express interest. Soon, it seemed, all noise had ceased but for the live band—yet even that stopped momentarily, its members looking around the now-silent room.

Harry broke it; "Sirius!" He yelled, and ran up to his godfather. This time, Sirius did unhook his arm from Hermione's, to embrace his godson. Noise slowly filled the room once more, the music began again, and a handful of people made their ways to the new group gathered around Sirius and Hermione.

And, with one group, Sirius and Hermione told their tale, with a little help from Lupin. That group dispersed, the three of them made it across the room, where they sat, and were joined by Draco, Tonks, Harry, and Ginny. Another group formed around them very quickly, and, again, they told their story, this time with help from both Lupin and Malfoy. At the end of the telling, when Draco was wrapping it up by explaining how they had all landed in the hospital—to both groups, Hermione and Sirius had left out the part about opening the locked door in the Department of Mysteries—Sirius put his hand on Hermione's arm. This was the first time he had touched her since entering the house, and she jumped slightly at the coolness in his touch. She turned to look at him, and he whispered, so low it could scarce be heard, "I want to get out."

Hermione slowly smiled, and nodded untraceably. She leaned in to Lupin and whispered, "Sirius and I are going elsewhere. Cover for us, please." There was silence, and then she saw him nod slightly. She turned to Sirius just as Lupin began talking, and, somehow, the two were able to slip away, noticed only by Draco, Harry, and Ginny. Sirius's hand was clamped tightly around Hermione's as they left the house and went out into the garden in the Weasleys' back yard.

They passed couples—some dancing to the faint music inside, some engaging in other deeds. They passed the table topped with food and drink, and both grabbed a cup of punch and trotted onward; they had gone largely unnoticed by the people at the table, all of whom were chatting too amiably to truly care that an allegedly dead man and the only necromancer known to the world at that point had just stopped by where they were for refreshment.

They reached the farthest bench in the garden, miraculously unoccupied, and sat at it. Wordlessly, Sirius slid Hermione's wand from its position tucked in the sash that wound around Hermione's waist. He waved it at the bushes around them, and the slowly, ethereally wound to surround the sturdy stone bench. He sighed and put the wand back in its proper holster, grinning at Hermione in doing so.

"That was close," she said simply.

"Thanks a lot. I _really_ needed to get away from all that." Sirius remarked, smiling a smile filled with so much warmth that it did not matter that the two of them were outside, at night, during December. Hermione felt his warmth pass over her, and wondered briefly if he had cast some warmth spell on her, or if it was merely his presence to which she could attribute thanks. She leaned in slightly, and even her back, the small patches naked between the ribbon laces, crept into the warmth.

"I noticed. You looked a little stressed out."

"It's just that… some of those people, I'd think didn't _deserve_ to know our story." Sirius said thoughtfully, taking his cup of punch to his lips and sipping it. He looked at it quickly, raised his eyebrows, but set it down gingerly on the stone bench once more. Hermione notice that, this time, it was not between them, instead on Sirius's other side. Hermione quickly took a sip of her own, barely noticing the flavor, and then moved it so that there was no longer anything between the two heat-emanating bodies. Sirius looked over at her and smiled, beckoning her to scoot closer to him on the bench. She did so, hesitantly, and felt his arm wrap suavely around her waist, to rest on the stone at the opposite side. Ever so gently, Hermione's left cheek pressed against Sirius's shoulder, and her head nuzzled into his neck. He leaned his head against it.

Hermione, having quite forgotten what it was Sirius had said, but feeling a need for some sort of remark, merely added a probing, "Hmm…." Sirius opened his mouth to speak, and Hermione relished the way she could _feel_ him talking, discern the mechanics of his jaw and cheekbone lightly moving against the top of her head.

"After all, we worked _hard_ for that story. They should just take what they read in the papers, shouldn't they?"

"Papers?" Hermione asked, eyebrows raised, and Sirius laughed.

"I heard one of them mention that we were featured in the Daily Prophet. Front page, I do believe, although I shudder to think what picture of me they scrounged up. None of the ones dating near my death at all are very flattering…."

Hermione chuckled. "Nonsense. They're all flattering."

"How can _you_ say that, who saw me ripe from Azkaban?" Sirius asked, tone not altogether cold. "I must have looked ghastly then. I was pale and sunken with matted hair all over…."

"True, but you've always had a kind of photographic charm." Hermione laughed. "I haven't seen a photograph of you I didn't think was—" her voice stopped functioning, stopping her from continuing. Any other man, she attempted to rationalize, she could him he was handsome. Why was it so difficult to one who was so _obviously_ handsome, who, by no matter of doubt in the world had already figured it out for himself? No matter how the logical part of her brain scolded, she could not continue speaking.

"Charming? Dashing?" Sirius offered humorously, giving her a comforting squeeze. Hermione realized that she must have twitched, and blushed, grateful for the early winter darkness which had already fallen fully.

"Adorable." Hermione concluded, the specious part of her which had prevented conclusion before allowing at least that much to slip past.

Sirius looked at her, and she was sorry for the warmth of his cheek against the top of her head. She pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes. They were dark, serious eyes; Hermione shivered, suddenly a little cold. A smile, however, warmed Sirius's face, although something told Hermione that the smile was not entirely true to its owner.

"Adorable… I don't think I like the chime of that one. Maybe 'radiant', 'brilliant' even, I'd accept. I don't want to be a little boy, though."

"And I don't want to be a little girl." Hermione blurted out, before she had the sense to stop herself. One of her great fears—Sirius's face lit with the telling of it, and his lips parted ever so slightly.

"I… I don't see you as a little girl." He insisted, and Hermione, mortified, pressed her face back into his shoulder; he wrenched it away, pinning her once more with that look. It was intense, far more so than anything Hermione's mottled brain could remember. Her thoughts, in fact, chased themselves round and round the same things. _He doesn't see you as a little girl. God, look at those eyes! I love the way he looks at me. I wish he could… but no! I don't love him! I can't possibly _want _him, not like this. Our bodies are so hot… and… he doesn't see you as a little girl…_. She could hardly move, let alone allow her eyes to wander from his. She was aware of everywhere he looked at her; when his eyes searched hers, she knew just what they were finding. She saw his gaze move to her lips, and slowly, in a way Hermione could only describe as _serious_, fully _Sirius_, up to her eyes once more.

Hermione was not sure if they had grown any closer; she led herself to believe so, but she could not be sure. At any rate, nothing became of any movement, real or imagined, because, at that moment, there was the clearing of a throat from outside the circle of hedges, and Hermione jumped at the sound. Sirius shut his eyes, face growing almost the appearance of that of a man who had allowed an opportunity to slip from him; Hermione filed this away for deeper pondering at a later date. She instead turned, at the same time as Sirius, to see whose head it was that was appearing, peering at them from over the bushes.

In the dim light, Hermione could see Draco's pointed, haughty features, and a phantom of a smile on his face. "Interesting gardening techniques Mrs. Weasley employs, aren't these?" He asked, and he made an arm movement as if waving a wand. The hedges shrank back to their original placements.

"What—" Sirius began, his voice a little rough. He cleared it, and began again. "What're you doing out here, Malfoy?"

Draco gave an innocent grin. "I was just sent to get _you_. What are _you_ doing out here, Black?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows, but did not respond. Hermione coughed slightly and said, still blushing and a little on edge from the surprise Draco had given her, "Who needs us in there?"

"The Minister," Draco added, grin fading to a grimace. "He just dropped by—without an invite, I'll add—and started asking about the two of you, seeing if he could speak with you personally. I think, since he's already getting the story from Arthur, he won't have to ask you about it. Basically, you," Draco nodded at Hermione, "make an appearance, and you," here, he nodded at Sirius, "prove to him you're alive. That should satiate his curiosity… and I hope he does leave soon. Harry's practically steaming out the ears that he showed up, I think he's ready to throw the cad off his feet if he does or says anything over the line. And that's the kind of trouble the Boy Wonder ought to avoid so shortly after he's been married." Draco sighed into the night, breath visible in the chilly air.

"Minister?" Sirius asked blankly. He vaguely remembered Hermione telling him about a new Minister… he could not remember the name, however. "Who was that, again?"

"Man in the big chair." Draco laughed, speaking slowly as if Sirius could not understand him. "Rules the Wizarding world of Britain. Surely you've heard of him, at least…."

Hermione scowled at Draco. "Very, very funny, Malfoy." She turned to Sirius. "His name is Rufus Scrimgeour, and he's tried to take all the credit for the demise of Voldemort. It's a ridiculous ploy, really, but tons of people believe him… that _his _military force swept the floor with the Death Eaters, rather than the Order of the Phoenix."

Sirius clamped his jaw tight. "Ah. I see. It's coming back to me a bit. And… isn't Harry angry about this?"

"Oh yes, very." Draco offered. "Boiling mad. But there's not much he can do about it, is there? I mean, Scrimgeour's the _Minister of Magic_. Even Harry Potter couldn't stand up against him without at least getting his wrist slapped." There was more than a hint of dry sarcasm inlaid in the sentence, and Hermioen shot Draco another award-winning scowl.

"Not entirely," Hermione answered with a sigh. "Not about taking the limelight off himself. He didn't really want the fame, anyway. But he did get very angry when he heard how Scrimgeour was trying to take credit away from the Order."

"And we've got to go _consort_ with this man?" Sirius asked, eyebrows raised. Hermione took a scant second to admire the charm in the wrinkle of his brow. She bit her cheek to keep from smiling, clenched her fist to keep from reaching out her long, nimble fingers and running them along the slight creases this caused.

"I'm afraid so. He could come up with plenty of bogus charges to throw on Hermione's head if he's insulted by either of you—breaking and entering, illegal misuse of Ministry title." Draco said plainly, gesticulating slightly with his hands. "Oh, and make I'd make it snappy. Too much longer with them in the same house, and Potter—probably with all the young Weasley crew at his side—will have torn of the old bloke's head, lit it on fire, and begun singing Christmas carols. Not that _I'd_ mind." Draco added as an afterthought. "Just don't call me to vouch for Potter's character at the trial—we're not exactly bosom buddies yet, you know."

Hermione and Sirius had long since ceased listening. They were exchanging a silent mental conversation, each building up the strength of the other, and, fortified, they stood. "Ready whenever you are, dearest." Sirius said, once more proffering his arm to Hermione. Blushing at the term, Hermione gingerly took it.

"Of course I'm ready."

The two, followed by a huffily annoyed Draco, made their way back into the Burrow.

-

-

-

AN: And a Merry Christmas/Happy Hannukah/Happy Kwanzaa to all of you! And, if you're atheist... hey, at least it's snowing! Nah, jkjk. Hope you enjoyed, I typed like mad all Christmas Eve to get the up today. I hope you like your present, and there'll be even MORE up soon! XD


	6. Chapter 6

"Ready whenever you are, dearest." Sirius said, once more proffering his arm to Hermione. Blushing at the term, Hermione gingerly took it.

"Of course I'm ready."

The two, followed by a huffily annoyed Draco, made their way back into the Burrow.

-

-

-

Scrimgeour looked dressed for a party. His red-gold-silver streaked hair was combed back and held with a thick black ribbon. He wore a black suit, styled almost after the Muggle fashion, with a deep, navy blue cloak over his shoulders. Decorative military medals of gold hung on this cape importantly, almost imperiously. He looked down his distinctive nose at Sirius and Hermione, who were approaching.

An almost-smile broke his façade as he reached out a hand to grasp Sirius's. "Mr. Black, I presume?" He asked politely. Sirius gave a nod, devoid of all the curt nature he yearned to throw into it. Something about Scrimgeour put him on edge.

The older man turned to Hermione and broke a genuine smile. "And this lovely young lady must be Miss Granger." He took her hand, which had been hesitantly offered for a dainty shake, and brought it to his lips. He kissed it, and Hermione let it fall dazedly. Of the handful of times her hand had been kissed, none of them felt as terribly _wrong_ as that time had. She felt something odd ripple through Sirius, at her side, and she looked at him from the corner of her eyes. He looked rigid, almost not lifelike, and with an inward chuckle, Hermione realized that Sirius had not yet quite proven himself to be alive, other than showing the slightest hints at movement.

"Minister," Hermione acknowledged, bobbing her head slightly and to the side in a polite nod. It hit her how much better she had gotten at diplomacy since Sirius had come back. Her prior run-ins with any high-ranking Ministry officials had not been lacking animosity after any fashion. Except for Sirius's icy expression, all could be taken as amiable in this conversation.

"Such nice costumes!" The Minister exclaimed. "Although I must admit, Mr. Black, that color does not suit you very well."

Sirius gave a grimace, as Hermione raised her eyebrows. She could scarce think of a better color to suit Sirius—she did not quite know what the Minister was playing at. She heard Sirius's controlled reply: "You're too kind, Minister." She squeezed his arm gently, in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

"Ah, but such matters as clothing are trivial," Scrimgeour said, waving his hand lightly, as if brushing dust from his shoulder. He sounded too pleased to brush Sirius away, Hermione thought, calculating as ever, but she bit her tongue and kept her ever-broiling temper to a simmer. "Not when I am speaking to the luckiest man at the party. I should feel _honored_." A needling smiled flounced across his face as he inclined his head mock-gravely to Sirius, who raised his eyebrows in question.

"Luckiest?" Hermione asked, looking quickly up at Sirius at her side.

"With such a beautiful woman on your arm, you dare not doubt my assessment, Mr. Black." Hermione turned bright red in embarrassment, Sirius the same hue, but probably from a different emotion. Scrimgeour turned to Hermione now and smiled. "Perhaps you will save a dance for me later?"

Hermione curtsied the slightest amount. "Perhaps, sir."

"Come on, Hermione," Sirius said, tugging slightly on her arm. "Let's go dance." A quick tango was currently being played. Hermione quickly followed her partner out onto the floor, away from Scrimgeour. She did not notice that Sirius made certain to place Hagrid and Madame Maxime's couple dance between the two of them and the Minister at nearly all times. When the older man was visible, however, chatting away at the people around him, Sirius threw him terribly dirty looks.

Hermione did not miss the fun in dancing with Sirius. He was quite good at the tango, really, and she enjoyed her front pressed against his front; he always seemed to emanate a perfect sort of warmth. There was little more, Hermione thought with an inner sigh, that she would have asked for as per this Christmas.

However, she had not yet looked up at him; realizing that this was silly behavior, she did so. What she saw made her completely cool, despite the warmth she had been washed in before. Sirius was looking down at her, something in his eyes so thick and fiery, slathering her with an attention so filled with—what was it? It was nothing she could recognize. Just then, she imagined his arms around her tighter, his mouth moving hypnotically on hers. This could not be a memory of their only ever kiss… it was impossible that was the case. They had not kissed like _this_, like how Hermione was feeling. Yet she opened her eyes, and Sirius was not kissing her, merely looking at her with those eyes that felt like lips moving over her body. He was observing her almost prayerfully. Neither looked away until that song faded, and a newer, much slower one took its place.

"Do you still want to dance?" Sirius asked. Something was funny about his voice.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. It was all she could do from saying yes, completely, and urging him to kiss her the way she wanted him to. _Ridiculous behavior… don't be stupid, Hermione!_ Her inner self berating such foolishness. Instead of voicing any of these internal qualms, she said, "I thought we were just dancing to get away from Scrimgeour…." She breathed in his scent as he pulled her closer and began swaying to the music. He smelled very heady, nearly causing her to go to sleep right there in his arms.

"We were," he said, and she enjoyed the way his voice rumbled underneath her ear as he spoke, "but I'm rather enjoying myself. How about you?"

She grinned, and knew that he felt it through his robes. She mumbled something, and then said, "I'm having a grand old time."

Sirius chuckled, and Hermione relished the sound, the feel of his laughter. She did not fall asleep, but floated away with the gentle rocking, on a kind of cloud nine with him there along with her.

-

-

-

Hermione. In his arms. Dancing with him. Something about this felt wrong, but that was wholly overwhelmed by all that felt _right_. He was not thinking with his mind anymore—his arms had forced him to hold her, his tongue, to ask her to dance, his feet, to revolve slowly with her. His eyes could not tear themselves from the top of her beautiful brown head. It hit him then, the seed of the thought, not yet completely formed, but a click on some subconscious level—he was not just grateful she had brought him back. He was in love with her. And then, at that thought, as it developed slowly, even the tiny bit of wrongness left him, and there was suddenly only Hermione and Sirius, and a love, now recognized, steadily growing to be the size of the earth.

It was so catastrophic. He wondered how he had not noticed it before. He was not shaken by it, however, as he thought he perhaps should be. It was, instead, oddly calm-inducing. He could wait. He could and would wait forever if he had to. Her being in his arms was enough for this moment, enough for now.

That all faded when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and heard the clearing of a throat behind him.

-

-

-

Hermione heard, too, and lifted her head from Sirius's chest. Rufus Scrimgeour stood, stately, behind Sirius's shoulder. Both raised their eyebrows in question at him.

"May I cut in?" The older man asked.

Hermione looked quickly at Sirius. He looked as if he was greatly contemplating saying 'no'; something about the set of his face belied a rather thick smattering of anger brewing like a storm within his skull. However, to deny this to the Minister would be to tap into more trouble than was worth it. Sirius hesitantly stepped back, eyes searching for and finding Hermione's. She nodded, as the Minister put his hands on her waist, and Sirius stepped back, still looking at Hermione, until he was off the dance floor. Hermione saw him float over to socialize with Harry and Ginny, who were taking a break from dancing. She continued to watch Sirius, merely standing there, as he spoke with his godson. She felt the warmth he had given her quickly sapping away, and frowned, eyes drifting to a half-shut position.

"It's remarkable, isn't it? That's he's back?" Scrimgeour said. When Hermione whipped her head to look at the man with whom she was dancing at a bit of a distance, he was not looking at Sirius, but directly at Hermione. She found she did not like that gaze very much.

She shrugged gently. "It's just a mistake… something that went wrong, undone. That's the theory behind it, anyway."

"You had to pay that arch with your own blood, didn't you, though?" The Minister asked.

"Not tons of it. Just a little. You need less, if your blood is innocent." Hermione had always spoken about such things, things she had been studying, and found them facile conversation topics. She allowed her mind to wander as she spoke with the Minister.

"And how is innocence measured?"

"If you've never committed a murder, for one." Hermione said, deciding not to go into the others. Scrimgeour was probably the last person she would like to touch on these topics with.

"Ah, but you _have_ committed murder, Miss Granger." Scrimgeour said, amused look on his face. "How else is your blood 'innocent'?"

Hermione shivered at the reminder of her past actions. Well, he had caught her. Blushing wholeheartedly, she said quietly, "If you've never—_lain_ with anyone… that's a factor, as well." Hermione quickly went through a mental list of the people who sharing this conversation with would be terribly awkward. After making quick decisions about Mr. Weasley and Draco Malfoy, but unable to do so about Sirius, she put the Minister as the second member of the list.

"Ah." Scrimgeour uttered, and Hermione blushed looking down at her chest.

Hermione could have sworn that, moments ago, dancing with Sirius, the neckline of her dress had been about an inch higher. Hermione did not have much to show, but all that could have been said to be acceptable at all—and even that, only in a place of quite ill repute—was showing. She looked, scandalized, up at the Minister, who was looking elsewhere. Her hands dropped from around his neck, and he looked down at her, taking a step away from him.

"What's the matter?" He asked, and his voice suddenly made Hermione go cold down to her core. She glared at him with what she hoped was all the power and fury and affront that she had.

Her lips parted slightly, and she said, as evenly as could be expected under the circumstances, "I don't much feel like dancing anymore. Pardon me, sir."

And with that, she broke her way through the dancing couples on the floor, out through the open back door and into the quiet garden, the cold of the night hitting her like a tidal wave. Suddenly, all she wanted was _out_.

Rufus Scrimgeour stayed behind on the dance floor sidelines, a smirk growing slowly on his face. "So spirited." He said mildly, smirk turning into as big a grin as he would allow himself.

-

-

-

Sirius and Harry had been busy catching up, talking about the rightful owners of fortunes and houses, but also about the mundane things—how Harry and Ginny were doing, a description of their little cottage. Sirius told Harry some of the slightly more personal facts of the story—not _all_ of them; he did not want his godson knowing what he had only that night learned himself, even though the small fact, like any secret, grew until bursting, attempting to cause Sirius to yell it out to anyone who could hear. He stomached it. This was about maturity. He could wait as long as was necessary.

During this entire time, he had been glancing as casually as could seem polite at Hermione and Scrimgeour dancing; he was watching, eyes wide, as Hermione stepped back, and then made her track-star dash for the garden.

Sirius was in the middle of a sentence to Harry, but that was forgotten. He dropped the drink he had been holding (Harry caught the glass before it shattered, but his arm was drenched in the liquid) and turned, racing after his date, wondering how things had gone awry, and what limb, exactly, of Scrimgeour's he was going to detach first.

Sirius did not catch up to Hermione in the house, nor see her when he entered the garden, but he somehow knew where she had headed. He kept on until he reached the area that held the old bench on which they had been seated merely ten or so minutes before. As he suspected, the hedges were once more around the bench, and Hermione sat on it. Sirius watched for a few seconds as she conjured up a plain white paper fan, spread it quickly, and held it up to her chest. She fanned herself lightly, but it was cold, that Sirius could only guess the purpose for such a thing.

He took a step back and vaulted the hedges, landing heavily on the cobblestones of the back edges of the courtyard. Hermione turned to face him quickly.

"Sirius," she breathed, overexertion evident in the timbre of her voice, as well as the flush on her face. A flick of the eyes told Sirius that even her _shoulders_ blushed, but he did not continue to look at them. He could not tell from what she had so far expressed, or the matter in which she had done so, whether she _wanted_ him there with her inside the hedges or not. He remained standing, rather than attempt to sweep to sit next to her, and she continued to look at him through those weeping, yet only slightly shining brown eyes.

"Hermione? What happened? What did he do?" Sirius tried to control his voice, but it cracked proverbially. He winced slightly at the desperation evident in his own being, the anger twirling inside of him.

Hermione flushed even deeper, and cleared her throat slightly. "He was… very _rude_." She managed, pulling the neckline of her dress up self-consciously. Sirius was silent for a few moments, before his eyes grew inches at least in diameter, and his eyebrows rose practically to his hairline.

"Oh." He said meekly. Now that she mentioned it, he had not noticed before her bodice being _quite_ so low-cut. "Did he…?"

Hermione sniffled a little and nodded. Sirius, forgetting about waiting for an invitation to sit with her, did so, and collected her into his arms. He felt more angry than wanting to console, however, and smoldered silently while Hermione gratefully allowed her hair to be stroked.

"I'll pull out his arms, first," Sirius began, voice filled with a bitter anger usually saved for more special occasions, "and then his hair. One by one, those hairs'll come out… and then, his teeth. With my bare hands. And then his legs, so he can never walk again, and then I'll take his eyeballs out, boil them, and put them back in…" the color of his story grew and grew, and soon, Hermione was giggling with the interesting things Sirius was ready to do to get back at Scrimgeour.

"Sirius," Hermione sighed, stopping his violent-sounding rants with a simple finger to his lips, "thank you. You're perfect."

Sirius smiled. "I try to be."

The two were conspicuously leaning towards each other; Sirius quickly pulled his face forward, and his lips tenderly brushed her cheek. Pulling back, breathing a little heavily, they both jumped when they heard a voice—nastier, if it was even possible, than the voice which he interrupted the two before—from beyond the hedges.

"Ah, Miss Granger, Mister Black… how pleasant it is to see you again. I trust you are enjoying the party?" Scrimgeour said. There was an odd tone to his voice, not the polite diplomacy of before, instead a kind of fuming silent quality beneath his words; Hermione and Sirius both felt their blood boil at it. At the wave of his hand, the hedges scurried, as if frightened of him, back to their original places. _Wandless magic… showoff_, Sirius thought. As if he were not unpleased enough with the Minister already.

Anger showing in ever square inch of his being, Sirius swept to his feet, eyes smoldering, hair practically standing on end.

"I ought to—" Sirius began, but there was something about the nonchalant, would-be urbane fashion in which Scrimgeour shook his head that rendered Sirius speechless. This was not good. Mere breaking-and-entering charges to hang over Hermione's head would not have given the Minister such a self-pleased look.

"Now, now, Mister Black… let us not do anything we are going to regret, hmm?" Scrimgeour asked, wicked smile curling on his face. "I have come to talk with both of you… you can take this as a kind of re-initiation into our society, Black. You've got to learn the rules here—_my_ rules. Are you listening?"

Hermione stood, and allowed herself to be pulled next to Sirius. She put her arms about his waist, head slightly in his chest. Sirius slowly gave a powerful, angry nod, the fury behind which would have sent most sensible men running. The Minister was not a sensible man.

"Misuse of Ministry position. Breaking and entering a _very_ important section of the Ministry of Magic. These charges could put Miss Granger on the streets… or even in Azkaban. For months." Scrimgeour's eyes did not leave Sirius. "But that's not all. The fact that you were in the Order of the Phoenix when it was about before the birth of Harry Potter sheltered you from many charges pressed against you and your ever-troublesome friends. However, being that yourself and Mister Lupin are the only ones left alive (in a manner of speaking) all these charges—theft, disturbing the peace, vandalism, assault—added together, split two ways, would equal five years in Azkaban for the both of you."

Sirius felt Hermione trembling against him, until he realized that both were trembling. He slowly wound his arms around her.

"What is this supposed to be telling us, _Minister_?" Hermione asked, voice icy and hard despite her shaking. Sirius could feel the power of her anger seeping through where they touched.

"It means, Miss Granger," Scrimgeour kept his voice light and pleasant, now, as he had inside the Burrow, "that doing as I say would be the most intelligently _strategic_ movement, at the moment." Hermione detested that smile, his terrible piercing gaze. There was none of the warmth like that which was held in Sirius's face, and it made Hermione want to cry out in pain from merely being seen by him, with his eyes like claws raking over her near-completely exposed bosom, her flushed, angry face… the arms which encircled Sirius, and, in turn, Sirius's arms, which encompassed Hermione.

"That's blackmail!" Sirius stated angrily, practically fuming, clenching his jaw so tightly that he felt it would break his teeth.

"Is it?" Scrimgeour asked. "Hmm… I don't believe so. It's just… looking out for our best interests. Good night. I'll expect to see you at work bright and early on the third, Hermione."

He turned and left, leaving nothing but a painful taste in Hermione's mouth at hearing that monster speak her name with such attempted grace; she was unable to put up with it any longer. She slightly collapsed onto the stone bench, and allowed her head to fall into her hands.

-

-

-

Sirius debated with himself, trying to come up with good, rational reasons not to pound Rufus Scrimgeour's face until it was all a bloody mass; he was distracted from this, however, when he felt Hermione's arms leave him, and her slip away to crumple neatly onto the bench. Sirius watched her, and knelt before her.

"Hermione?" He asked tenderly, taking one of her hands into both of his. She looked up, and caught him up in that deep brown gaze.

"Let's leave, Sirius." Was all she said. It was all she had to say. Sirius nodded, and, side by side, the two Disaparrated, leaving only two cups of punch and an empty stone bench in their wake.

-

-

-

AN: Happy New Year, everybody! How did you like the new chapter?


	7. Chapter 7

"Hermione?" He asked tenderly, taking one of her hands into both of his. She looked up, and caught him up in that deep brown gaze. 

"Let's leave, Sirius." Was all she said. It was all she had to say. Sirius nodded, and, side by side, the two Disaparrated, leaving only two cups of punch and an empty stone bench in their wake.

-

-

-

"Calm down," was all Hermione said, yet something in her voice caused Sirius's angry, nonsense-yelling rampage to end abruptly. Hermione shut her eyes and sighed deeply. "Could you make dinner? I'm very hungry, and I think I need a little while to think things over a little."

Sirius shrugged, but slowly nodded, as well. Pasta. He would enjoy breaking the noodles into the boiling water, pretending the huge bunch was Scrimgeour's neck….

"Could I borrow your wand?" He asked, holding out his hand, and Hermione passed it over. He had never quite been patient enough to wait for the water to heat up after the Muggle fashion. He glanced over at Hermione quickly before leaving the room. The plain white fan once more covered her bosom, and Sirius watched as she delicately threw herself down on the couch in the den, looking up at the ceiling as if it held the secrets to life.

Sirius quickly expunged this image from his mind's eye as he turned to enter the kitchen. He tapped the wand against the burner, summoned a saucepan, and, with a muttered incantation, it filled with water which streamed from the tip of Hermione's wand. Merely setting it down on the burner caused the water inside to ripple with the excitement of heat. Sirius knew this feeling; this was Hermione, in his arms, dancing with him.

His anger faded slightly, his passion a little less so, into a kind of rationality. Within moments, the water was at a complete boil, huge rolling bubbles rising from the bottom. With his last reserves of unadulterated anger, he broke the noodles and allowed them all to fall into the heat of the water.

Sirius slowly stirred the food. He was unsure about all of his movements, as if he had been born again, these new thoughts and motions and feelings completely alien to him. He felt that, if he tread too loudly, or said anything at all, he would ruin her, ruin himself, ruin everything they had tried to be. And the love he had discovered earlier that night was still a blossom, although, he realized, it had always been there, since she had first beckoned him—not Ron—from beyond that damned arch with that demonic, slightly fluttering, tattered veil.

When the noodles were soft and paler than they had been, not too chewy as either over-cooking or under-cooking could do, he pulled the pan off the burner, and then whipped out the strainer. He wondered if he had given Hermione enough time to think, to calm down. He knew for certain that he was well calm already, prepared to speak peaceably of the situation—which did not, of course, entail that he cease from his plans to gouge out Scrimgeour's eyeballs and feed them to Hogwart's giant squid.

Fifteen minutes later, still slightly steaming spaghetti, covered in a soft marinara sauce, found its way on a sparkling clean plate to the den, and Sirius set it down on the table near where Hermione sat on the couch. She looked up at him, as if she had just been awoken from a kind of drifting daze… which, Sirius said to himself, she probably had.

"Ready to talk?" He asked, as kindly as he could.

She shrugged. "I suppose so. Although, all this time has done little to soothe me."

Sirius was silent. There were no words he could say now that would not give away his love for her, which he knew she did not want just then… thus, silence. He felt Hermione's eyes rake up his being, to be caught and held by his. The silence amplified their gazes. Sirius saw Hermione's mouth tremble a little bit. He broke the silence, hearing it in his mind shatter away like so much ice, no longer wanted or necessary.

"What is it, Hermione? What do you want?" At the aching passion in his voice, he felt Hermione's inhibitions, that wall of solidity that always lurked, unbearably cold and hard, behind her eyes, melt slowly away.

"Please, Sirius, hold me right now." She moaned, and allowed herself to be collected into his arms. She leaned against him, her breath playing along his shirt, their legs stretching out along the couch.

"I'm afraid." Hermione said, and her voice showed weakness. It was a weakness alien to Sirius, but it did not turn him off of her in any fashion; it made her feel so right, being protected by him, just as she could protect him like no other. "Afraid for you. And Lupin." She added quickly. "I wouldn't mind going to Azkaban, but…."

"No." A little nugget of fury, born in Sirius's gut when Scrimgeour had first mentioned the possibility of Hermione in Azkaban, erupted violently up through his chest and out of his mouth. "You would. That place is a living hell. I would… kill myself if ever I stood by and allowed you to go there. It would break you, as it almost broke me."

Hermione did not attempt to deny this. He could feel her shaking with suppressed tears. "Then what do I do?" She asked, and Sirius's heart went out to her. "What do we do?"

It was a subtle change, but Sirius had noticed it. The slight transition from being alone—asking what it was she should do—to asking Sirius what they could do. Together. His stomach tightened slightly, a feeling of belonging sweeping over him. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be with her for the rest of his life….

"I don't know." He hated to sound so lost and broken, but he could hardly help it. He was, after all, both lost and broken.

Hermione was quiet, but determined. "Well… we've got to do something."

Sirius just nodded, unable to say anything. He did not want to sound even more pathetic than he had already managed to do. He stroked her hair lightly; it felt wonderful, curly and not over-dried under his fingers. Attempting to bask in this feeling, he bit his lip.

A slight shift in the weight distribution on the couch, and Sirius's eyes reopened, to see Hermione looking deeply at him, almost achingly. "Don't we?"

"Oh yes," said Sirius softly. "We most certainly do." He let out a huge sigh as she turned her head away again. His hand stopped stroking her hair, his slightly cold fingers burying themselves in this. "But for now… there's nothing. Maybe we should just get some sleep."

There was a pause. Hermione then said, tentatively, "I don't want to leave you right now."

Sirius shook his head. "You don't have to." He pulled her wand from the sash at her waist and waved it at the chair across the room, across which was draped a blanket. "Accio blanket!" He muttered, and it flew to him, opening and settling over them with grace. Satisfied, Sirius slowly slipped his hand under the blanket and attempted to find the sash, tucking the wand back where it went. He was almost certain that his hand brushed against a few parts of Hermione that, perhaps, it should not have brushed against, but she said nothing, so he decided not to bring it up, even in apology.

"Thanks." She muttered after a second. She snuggled closer to him.

He smiled into her hair. "Er… no problem, Hermione. Goodnight."

She was already asleep.

-

-

-

Hermione's eyes felt almost pasted together with that thickness as befits any early morning awakening. She felt odd, almost pushed, as she pried them apart with sheer force. Her back was warm, ever so warm….

She turned slightly and saw Sirius there. His eyes were shut, but something about the content look on his face told her that he was not asleep. She moved her elbow very slightly to nudge him, and his eyes opened, dreamily. He smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione." He said softly.

She smiled, but it was a troubled one. "Merry Christmas, Sirius." She said. Painstakingly, she rolled off of the couch and to her feet.

"Where are you going? It's too cold to be out and about." Sirius said, sitting up and wrapping the blanket a little more effectively around himself to suit his now vertical position.

She shrugged. "I was going to make breakfast, if you'd like…." Her voice trailed off.

"Alright," said Sirius, stretching out his legs a little. "Then come on in here, and we can open presents."

Hermione bit her lip and blushed. Presents? How had he known that she had gotten him something? How had he known to get her anything at all? Despite how close of friends they had become since his return from beyond the veil, she doubted sincerely that he had the measure of her yet, so as to get her something marvelous. Despite this knowledge, however, she felt something build up inside of her core… he had bought her something? Slowly, she nodded to Sirius, however, and turned around to wander into the kitchen, pulling a pan out and warming up the oven as she leaned back and thought rather deeply.

She suddenly felt rather bad for what she had gotten him—it was only a scarf, the one that she had knitted that did not look as deranged as all of the others did. It had the old Gryffindor colors on it, shining with pride. He had been taken to cold spells every now and then recently, and she thought a nice, warm scarf may do him well. It was wrapped in a knobby little package and stuck in the corner of the living room. She had, of course, wanted to get him something much better, but money was scarce these days, and shopping time ever more so. She heaved a sigh and cracked an egg over the now steaming surface of the pan.

Sirius ambled in a few long minutes later, after Hermione's first eggs was done and steaming on a plate, the second, sizzling on the pan and being tended to. For a long time, they stayed that way—Hermione, cooking, unaware that she was being watched, and Sirius's eyes solemnly raking up and down Hermione's fatigued physique. Finally, however, Sirius cleared his throat, and Hermione turned to peer at him over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" She inquired.

He half smiled. "I thought I'd warm some milk for hot chocolate."

Hermione found herself smiling, as well. "Sure… I'm up for that."

-

-

-

AN: I am SO sorry. Both that I haven't updated since, like, January 1st, and that this is so short. I was away from any computer at all for a really long time. But I hope you liked this general fluff - and I will be working a little harder on updating from now on. Also, for you who asked, I'm sixteen now (yesterday was my birthday), but wrote, obviously, all but the last bit of this chapter as a fifteen-year-old.

I've been working on a lot, including other, completely different Sirimione fics, which I'll try to get up here sometime this summer. There look to be two sort of Here With Me length ones, and maybe a novel length. Exciting, isn't it? XD I wrote them with you guys in mind, of course.

Review, and I'll give you a cookie! Also, I'm still looking for someone who knows the pertinence of the fic titles... seriously just type them in to google, and I'm sure you'll find out...


	8. Chapter 8

"What are you doing?" She inquired.

He half smiled. "I thought I'd warm some milk for hot chocolate."

Hermione found herself smiling, as well. "Sure… I'm up for that."

-

-

-

After the making of eggs and hot chocolate, after all of this was done, the two of them sat, alone, in front of the Christmas tree, each wrapped in his or her own blanket, sipping from their hot mugs. Sirius thought it a little odd that they were still wearing their formal attire, but Hermione still looked beautiful, and he wondered if he looked presentable, as well. He should have run to a restroom to check, but he never had. He supposed that that would have to wait for later.

Scrimgeour and the problems o the night before went unmentioned. It was not that they were not thought of. Oh no, Sirius could do little but think of the possibility of Hermione going to Azkaban, of himself and Lupin doing so, or all of that torment and horror, those ghosts of so long ago that he could never bring up in himself. It seemed that his entire life, he had been shoved from prison to prison—his own home, with the parents with the hatred in their eyes and sneers curling their lips as they spoke ill of Sirius and everything that he stood for, and then, shortly after, Azkaban itself, and then, not long after being released from this… death, aching, painful death. He wanted the chance to be free for once, to be able to do half of the things he had used to do. Hermione gave him that chance. Now, however, somebody was coming by and threatening it, just to give himself a chance at claiming the untouched beauty of Hermione for himself. Sirius could never stand by and watch that happen. He would die fighting for Hermione's honor, if need be.

But none of this was spoken. It was Christmas Day; they could temporarily put aside those worries….

Hermione half smiled at him as she sipped her hot chocolate. "You can open yours first."

He grinned and bobbed his head as she handed him a nicely-wrapped parcel. "Thanks… you really shouldn't have gotten something for me, though—"

Blushing a little, Hermione shrugged. "It's not much, if that's any help to you."

Sirius just continued smiling, and then slowly undid the tape on the package, tearing into the paper with a strangely practiced ease, and pulled out what was inside.

A long, soft Gryffindor scarf lay across his hands, shining in his eyes as he looked at it in surprise. Hermione bit her lip, watching his every reaction to what he now held. She could not quite measure it. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes crinkled at the edges, staring.

She felt bashful. "Er…."

"I haven't had one of these in _ages_," he said in a raspy sort of voice. "And _never_ one even close to this soft…." His voice trailed off, and he looked up at her, dark eyes twinkling. "Where… did you get one?"

"I made it." She found herself whispering before she could stop herself.

Slowly, he smiled. "You knit?"

She nodded.

"I suppose I knew that. It just seems so…" he grinned devilishly, "domestic."

"Oh, shove it." She said playfully, nudging him in the shoulder. With a mock-derisive snort, Sirius nudged her back, and Hermione hit his shoulder with hers.

The next move was Sirius's, and he used it to hold her to him suddenly, hugging her so tightly and burying his nose so lightly into her hair that her face burned a raw bright red. He held her like this, until they could get over the sound of their heartbeats in discord, until all that they could hear was this and their breathing, slow but still deep and frantic and odd….

"Thank you… so much, Hermione." He said. "It will help me keep warm in the lonely winters."

He let her go, and Hermione pulled away, looking up at him. Her eyes were sparkling, now. Suddenly, she did not want his winters to be lonely. _She_ wanted to be the one to keep him warm and occupied whenever it was cold out….

But that was ridiculous. She just felt sorry for him, which was probably what he had wanted her to feel, anyway. She was not attracted to him, was not lusting for him, and most certainly was not in love with him. And there was no way on Earth that he was in love with her, not a stubborn bookworm like her. He just wanted to mess with her a little, and she had played directly into his hands on this account.

She bit her lip and looked down at the ground.

"Now," Sirius said, voice a little odd, "perhaps I should go get _your_ present. Shall I?"

Hermione made a noise. "By all means." She muttered.

She was feeling a little weird about the receiving the present bit of this Christmas. She knew already what her present was _going_ to be. Sirius was going to sacrifice himself in order to bring Ron back for Hermione—that was what he had thought she had wanted. And she had, she really had. But now, even with the prospect of Ron being back (which was, by this point, impossible, of course) she could not face Sirius leaving her. They had grown so close… once more, she had to repeat her personal mantra that she was not in love with him, was not in love with him, until it became engrained on her mind, and she could think nothing else, but she no longer knew what the words meant on their own.

The room was slightly drafty, the floor, freezing, but she had noticed this to its full extent until Sirius had left it. Now, she sat, shivering a little, listening to the sounds of Sirius rustling around in the other room.

By the time he came back in, she had pulled the blanket around her shoulders even tighter to her, and was warming a little. He looked at her, smiled, and sat a little closer to her than before. "Here you are," he said, handing her a small package. It was smaller than her package for him had been; just a box, probably about the size of her palm, and only an inch or so high. She took it tenderly, trying to hide how her hands shook slightly, and then, jokingly, shook the box. Whatever it was rattled around in there noisily.

Sirius smiled. "Come on, now, just open it," he said, laughing easily, and Hermione found herself smiling and laughing a little bit, as well.

She tore slightly at the paper, not wanting to make one big, eager mess of it, but she felt her heart pounding in her throat all the while. What could it have been? She wanted desperately to know what Sirius had gotten for her.

The box, it turned out, was hard and black, with antique silver hinges on one side. She gently pried it open, tossing the paper aside without a second thought.

Glittering in the light, there lay a glinting silver necklace. The chain was unbroken, the charm, an untainted teardrop shape. When she lifted it out, it was a little heavier than it looked, and it shone in her gleaming eyes as she stared on at it.

"This is… amazing," she said softly, the words barely passing her lips as a whisper.

Sirius smiled and blushed pleasantly. "I'm glad you like it." His voice was a little gruffer than Hermione had been expecting, and she tore her eyes from the necklace to his face. She could see some unnamed emotion in there as he regarded her, and it made her shiver from her very core outward. Then, his large, warm hands reached out and gently plucked the necklace from her grip. He slid over to her and brushed her hair back away from her back and shoulders, his touch so light that goose bumps were raised all along her skin. Then, the chain encircled her neck, and he fastened it there, holding behind her for a few seconds. Two brilliant smiles grew simultaneously on their faces, but, when Hermione turned around, they both hid them.

"It's beautiful." She said, and Sirius noted that her eyes were still shining a little more than usual.

Sirius could say nothing to that. He just drew her in and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead. This time, when they pulled away, neither of them pretended to hide their smiles.

-

-

-

A/N: Okay, so that was a really long hiatus. SO sorry about that. Hopefully I'm back. Hopefully. And sorry that was so short. The book 7 release date got me really excited about HP again, and I just started writing, and I battled through a lot of the really difficult parts! If I still have any readers left, I hope you enjoy!!!

Oh yeah, to those of you who correctly got the Dido thing, congrats!! All of the Sirimione fics so far have been titled after Dido songs.


	9. Chapter 9

"It's beautiful." She said, and Sirius noted that her eyes were still shining a little more than usual.

Sirius could say nothing to that. He just drew her in and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead. This time, when they pulled away, neither of them pretended to hide their smiles.

-

-

-

The rest of the day, Hermione awkwardly avoided Sirius. She started this by bathing, making certain to lock the door to avoid any possibly embarrassing walk-in moments. She soaked in the sudsy water for at least forty-five minutes, digging deep into her hair with her fingers and trying to file her feelings into a straight, logical line.

It was far more difficult than she had originally thought it would be. What she had used to think of Sirius as—like a butterfly pinned to a collection board—had exploded in recent times, and flown away laughing at her. Actually, looking back to her adolescence, this had actually probably happened long before the man's premature and temporary death. She had not known what to think of Sirius ever since the scene in the Shrieking Shack at the end of her third year… and even less so since the occurrence just before her sixteenth birthday.

Tingling from more than just the cold when she got out of the cooling water, Hermione dried quickly and unceremoniously, and then dressed into her new clothes. Sirius was walking by to his room from the kitchen when she exited the bathroom, and he opened his mouth as though to speak to her; she just gave him as dazzling a smile as she could manage, though, and he fell silent, giving her the opportunity to push past him, her heart beating as if she had just run a mile.

Feeling as though the last few weeks had completely wiped her memory, Hermione read back over on a few of her work notes, in order to get herself ready to go back to the office in the next few days. She certainly did not want to, because Scrimgeour would no doubt be lurking around, but the man was no more welcome in the Department of Mysteries than any normal witch or wizard would be, so at least Hermione would have some solace there as an Unspeakable. She gave a shuddering sigh as she flipped through some of her old files on the cycle of life, and on the hall of prophecies. After a few very deep, etching frowns, she closed these, believing she remembered enough to be effectively in the game when she decided to go back to work.

How long had she been out now? It seemed like years ago that she had woken up in that thunderstorm, in the middle of the night, and decided that it was the night. And it _had_ been the night… the night everything began. Just not quite the way she had been planning.

It was in that instant, when Hermione felt exhaustion wash over her in a wave, and her eyelids suddenly becoming very heavy indeed, that she heard the exchange of several voices out in her living room.

Her eyes flew open now, on impulse. As a soldier of the great war, Hermione's nerves would always have an extra edge to them; when she recognized the voices, however, she calmed enough to grin with her entire face. Before she got to her feet, however, she heard Sirius's knuckle-knock on her door.

"Yes?" She called out, and he opened, peeking his head in.

"We have a few visitors. You appear to be decent. You want to let them in?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, if I hadn't been decent, it's not like you gave me any chance to cover up," she joked. Sirius's only reply was to grin back at her. "Let them in, I suppose. If they must."

When she saw Harry and Ginny, she just shook her head and smiled, and the first words to fly from her mouth was, "You two are so tan!"

They both immediately ran over to her ad hugged her all at once, and the three were a mass of smiles and a few tears (from Ginny) and laughter. "I'm so sorry we didn't get much of a chance to talk at the party." Harry said once the three had pulled apart, and Ginny was discreetly wiping her eyes. "Things were a little… hectic."

_That's for certain_, Hermione thought with a mental snort.

"We thought we'd pop in for Christmas, anyway," Ginny said happily. The two were not bundled up, which told Hermione that they had Flooed over (Harry would never have chosen Apparition as his favored method of travel).

"Well of course! Just a little visit," Harry said. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not. I want to hear everything!" Hermione squealed delightedly, taking out her wand and summoning two chairs from the kitchen. "About your honeymoon, where you went… and since you've been back, and everything!" When the chairs arrived seconds later, Harry and Ginny each took one and sat, facing Hermione, their smiles still not fading. Hermione and Sirius both sat on her bed.

"_You_ want to ask _us_ what we've been up to?" Ginny demanded, laughing in her gleeful, tinkling manner. "You two have been very busy, I've heard! I mean, we heard what Sirius told us as the party, but I sort of want to hear it without all of those people around us."

Sirius and Hermione looked at each other, and they both blushed just a little. "Well, I'm not sure how much else there is to say." Hermione said softly. "Yeah, we've been busy, but there hasn't been much else than what you've read." Her blush deepened. "Actually, there's been a little _less_ than what you've read, really."

Ginny and Sirius both gave nervous laughs, but Harry just smiled a little and remained quiet, looking from his godfather to his remaining best friend.

The talk continued, and they moved quickly onto other things, ending with a rather humorous three-way debate between Harry, Sirius, and Ginny about that year's Quidditch hopefuls.

-

-

-

"Thanks for coming over," Sirius said to Harry and Ginny as they got ready to Floo back to their home. Ginny beamed and nodded to him, and Harry did, as well.

"It was my pleasure. We stayed a lot longer than we expected to… sorry about tiring Hermione out like that."

Sirius grinned. Hermione had been nearly asleep by the time the other three realized that the sun was already going down. Sirius had nudged Hermione awake, promising to make a quick dinner for her once Harry and Ginny left, so that she would not go to sleep without having eaten, and the happy couple had politely excused themselves.

"Mum wouldn't forgive us if we didn't drop by there quickly again before the day is over. She'll probably guilt trip us into staying for dinner… we'll have to go home and change first," Ginny had said, before giving Hermione a long good bye hug and promising to drop in again sometime soon. Then, with a sly look at Sirius, she said she would not do so without owling first. Hermione had caught this and blushed, and stayed in her room folded in her bed while Sirius walked the guests to the fireplace.

Now, Ginny pinched some Floo powder. "Thanks tons, Sirius. It's been a pleasure." Then, she threw the powder into the fire and watched the flames turn green. She stepped in and yelled, "Draco's den!" In a second, she was whisked away.

Sirius felt his eyebrow rising. "Draco's den?" He asked Harry, who laughed.

"Yeah. Our place isn't connected to the Floor network yet, so Draco's… conveniently letting us use his." Harry rolled his eyes, and Sirius got the sudden feeling that Draco was not so happy about this set up. "We're neighbours! I couldn't be more pleased," Harry's voice was thick with sarcasm.

"I would imagine." Sirius chuckled.

There was a silence as Harry reached for the Floo powder. His smile faded, and he paused for a moment, before looking up at Sirius.

"Hey, listen, mate." His voice was soft, as though he did not want somebody—Hermione, Sirius thought with a jolt that clenched his stomach tightly—to hear what he was saying.

"I'm not saying you are. Because you might not be. But I know you. And I know Hermione. And I know what's been going on, and what both of you should be feeling, and what both of you look like you're feeling. And I've heard things. Not just from Lupin, either, so don't get mad at him." Harry smiled, two spots of color rising excitedly on his cheeks. He clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "And I'd like to tell you that, whatever happens or has happened between you and Hermione, I'm perfectly fine with it. You have my pre-approval."

Before Sirius could shut his jaw, which had fallen open for some reason, Harry was yelling, "Merry Christmas!" and then, "Draco's den!" and he was gone.

-

-

-

It was about five minutes after Harry, Ginny, and Sirius had left her room that Sirius returned, walking slowly and quietly, and wearing a rather confused smile on his face. He flickered a happy look in Hermione's direction, and sat in one of the chairs that had been emptied by their guests.

"I'm not asleep yet," Hermione informed him blearily, sitting up just a little.

"Don't bother sitting up. You need your sleep," he said, aware that she would be returning to work the following day. He was dreadfully interested in what sort of things the Unspeakables did, but, of course, he could hardly ask her and expect her to answer. Maybe one day, if he could manage to get her inebriated again….

He chuckled a little at his silent joke, and saw her smile as she looked over at him. "Merry Christmas, Sirius," she said, so lazily that he would have thought she was asleep already, had he not been looking directly into her warm, chocolate-brown eyes.

And he beamed. "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

She fell asleep, and soon, without moving from his spot, so did Sirius.

-

-

-

Hermione had been so worried at waking up a little late that she had not even noticed Sirius sleeping there until she was already dressed and completely ready. She gave a little yelp at having dressed in front of him, and, in the end, this is what woke him up.

He smiled at her upon waking. "Hullo, Hermione."

"Hey. I have to get into work…" she looked at her watch. "In eleven minutes." Her face was rather red for some reason Sirius could not guess.

"Oh, don't you have time for breakfast?"

She sighed, and said, "Toast. If I hurry."

The two practically ran to the kitchen, and Sirius magicked the bread into the toaster. They waited around, making minimal conversation (about Sirius's dream—something about chasing a mail carrier) until the bread came up, and Sirius watched Hermione eat it dry.

"Alright, now I really have to go," she said with a full sigh.

"Have a wonderful day," Sirius said, and, without warning at all, he pulled Hermione in to him, gave her a back-cracking hug, and kissed her firmly on the cheek.

If she had been red earlier, she certainly was so now. "Sirius," she said, laughing a little. But, when she met his warm, smiling eyes, she just smiled, as well. "Thanks. I'm off." When she pulled away from him, she Disapparated right there, and Sirius watched her, his smile suddenly sad.

"I sure hope Scrimgeour doesn't catch her today."

-

-

-

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione flinched and froze. She heard the voice as soon as she had Apparated in. It sounded familiar, for certain….

Percy Weasley walked pompously up to her and looked down his thin nose at her. "Miss Granger, it has been a while since you have deigned to come into work, hasn't it?"

"I've been on vacation, Percy." Hermione said with a little sigh. Percy gave an almighty sniff.

"Well, you have special orders from the Minister for today."

Hermione winced a little and just blinked up at him. "Well, what are they?"

Percy's smile was degrading, and, frankly, Hermione would have liked very much to slap it off of his face. "You are to gather reports from all of your fellow Unspeakables—only the basics, of course, the Minister hardly wants you to spill all of the secrets. Make a full, comprehensive report to be presented to him tomorrow."

Her eyebrows immediately went up. This was the first time anything like this had been asked for from the Department of Mysteries. "Er…?"

"The reason for this," said Percy haughtily, "is that there seems to have been a lack in reporting to betters within your Department. Obviously, seeing as what you yourself have been up to…."

Hermione frowned deeply. Sure, that might have been a reason, but Hermione thought that she could think of a far more likely one.

"The Minister believes that you should perhaps report directly to him."

Boiling a little inside, Hermione just nodded, trying not to say anything. She knew that any words that would come out of her mouth at the moment could hardly turn out to be kind. Nodding curtly to Percy, she brushed past him, and was walking away when his voice stopped her again.

"Oh, and Granger?"

Hesitantly, she turned around. There was something about that snooty tone of his that made her want very much to wipe that look off of his face, but she somehow held back.

"I wouldn't disobey the Minister anymore if I were you. He's a very powerful man, you know."

She felt enraged. There were hundreds of thousands of things she could have yelled at him about the employer-employee relationship, or decency, or sexual harassment, or blackmail, or extortion. She held her tongue in silence, though, and walked away, the soles of her shoes pummeling the floor determinedly, as she wished she could be doing to Percy (or Scrimgeour himself) at that moment.

Hermione stomped off to the lifts and stood there with the others until her floor in stony silence, before begrudgingly getting off on her level and beginning her duty of cataloguing the goings-on of her fellows.

-

-

-

"Sirius! What a surprise!"

Sirius smiled. "I thought I might help around the house, if you need anything, Molly."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No, but thank you. The cleanup was finished early yesterday, just after presents were opened." She smirked. "And how was your Christmas?"

"It was quite nice, thank you," he chuckled. "Very quiet, until your daughter and her husband visited."

Mrs. Weasley smiled grandly. "Yes, well, children do that sometimes." She gave him a little look, as though attempting to remind him he was no longer a child. Or, at least, that was what Sirius felt from the remark; something small and subtle stabbed at him, and he recalled Harry's words somewhere in the very back of his head.

"Would you like some tea?"

Sirius frowned, pondering. Would he like tea? It seemed like such a content, old thing to do. His face twitched into what could only be described as a pout.

"No. I think I'll go into Diagon Alley for a bit. If anybody's looking for me…."

"Right. I'll tell them," Mrs. Weasley said, inclining her head. "And if you do happen to want a cuppa later—"

"Of course, I'll know exactly where to come," said Sirius. He was already halfway to the fireplace. "You don't mind if I use your powder, do you? I could pick you up some more—"

-

-

-

Hermione, exhausted, halfway fell across the table.

"Good lord, Granger," remarked a rather mundane weather employee. Hermione thought the man's name was probably Smithers, or Smitty, or something of the sort. "Are you quite alright?"

Of course people had been asking her about what had happened all around recently. The only people who seemed to have no questions were predictably her fellow Unspeakables. Hermione had almost been tempted to eat her lunch within the Department of Mysteries, to avoid her colleagues; however, she had not had the foresight to pack a lunch, and did not have the strength to go without one that day.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling into an upright position and rubbing her head where it had hit the table. She had thought she was alone upon first entering the common room. However, she was obviously mistaken—Smithers was sitting with two of his fellows in the climate department, a stringy witch named Ellis and contemplative broad-faced wizard called Hartman.

"I heard about all of that ruckus with that Black fellow," muttered Hartman thoughtfully, stirring his coffee dully as he spoke. "It's a great excitement, it is."

"Such hullabaloo!" Cried Ellis with a little snort. "Tell me, Granger… is all of it true?"

"Of course it's true!" Smithers cut in, when it looked like Hermione was thinking of what, exactly, she should say. "I was at the Weasleys' Christmas party two days ago, and I saw Sirius Black with my own eyes, standing right there with her." He turned to Hermione. "You must be quite tired. That was a great feat to achieve."

"Right. I mean… I know," Hermione sighed, not really thinking about what she was saying. She had had a long enough day already, and it was only just now lunch. Her coworkers were not always very easy to find—the Department of Mysteries was a very large place indeed, and difficult to navigate even for somebody who knew exactly how to get around. It took a long time to find people, and she had been taking down only the essential details of their current projects for her report to Scrimgeour the following day. While her peers had been understanding enough to offer a little, she could already tell the details she had gathered would not satisfy the Minister. Had she been able to feel any sort of rebellion, or anything but utter and frightening defeat at the moment, she would have gone right to the man's office and told him exactly where he could stick his Department of Mysteries progress survey. However, she felt humiliated and downtrodden. There was nothing she could do; worse yet, there was nothing Sirius could do, and she knew he would not take that lightly.

_Let's face it,_ she told herself darkly, nearly every moment of the day so far. _Scrimgeour more or less owns you. You can't get away from him tactfully and keep your job_.

There was noting to do. She couldn't just roll over and take it, but she could hardly refuse the advance, either.

Hermione felt tears stinging slightly at her eyes, and she decided to change the topic of conversation.

"How is the weather?" She asked politely, and, when usually that would seem to be anything but a topic starter, in the present company, Hermione was not surprised to hear that it carried her company away into discussion for quite some time. She got by just nodding and listening as best as she could.

-

-

-

A/N: Alright, next chappie. I hope you guys enjoy. Please review, you know it makes my day! Happy St. Patty's day!!


End file.
